


It's A Good Life, Bucky Barnes

by WednesdaysDaughter



Series: Unrelated Drabbles [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdaysDaughter/pseuds/WednesdaysDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I had fresh-squeezed orange juice and Ms. Edwards brought me over some carrots for our soup tonight. I was able to hold a pencil without my hands shaking and I could even hear the kids having a snowball fight down in the street.  My chest doesn’t hurt as much as it did and you came home early.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Good Life, Bucky Barnes

**Author's Note:**

> The title came to me the other day and I was finally hit with a little inspiration to bring this fic into life. I'm not 100% happy with the result, but it's got me writing again.

Another winter sweeps through the deserted Brooklyn streets and the only sound that can be heard over the falling snow is a hacking cough that cuts off sharply and then starts up again with a rekindled fervor.

Steve’s curled into a ball on the weathered mattress and he smiles up at Bucky who replaces the cold cloth clinging to his overheated forehead. The fever refuses to leave Steve alone, heating his skin and the blood racing under it until delirium settles in.

He can’t tell what’s up or down, but Steve breathes in relief when Bucky sits on the edge of the bed. It’s an illusion, the sudden ease his lungs have found and he stops coughing just long enough to ask Bucky if he’s eaten.

Bucky’s laugh is sharp and unhappy, but Steve’s smile endures until Bucky’s suddenly soft and gentle in the way he cradles Steve’s hands in his own and promises to heat up some stew before heading to bed. He adds another layer on top of the impressive pile of blankets that Steve’s wrapped up in and Bucky stays with him until sleep claims Steve for the next thirty-two hours.

The kitchen is filled with favors from the neighbors; extra jackets, canned vegetables, and bread to help the boys through Steve’s illness. Bottles of slimy liquid and bitter pills litter the counter and Bucky knows he’ll never be able to repay Dr. Richard’s wife enough for finding what she could at such short notice. A broken vase with withered purple flowers from Mrs. Wilson sits by the stove and the oranges in the sink are a vibrant beacon in the faded room.

It takes Steve two weeks to shake the flu out of his system and the snow’s been cleared from the roads and Bucky spends all his free time trying to make up for the hours spent taking care of Steve.

Holes in his gloves, Bucky races up the rusted stairs with a couple dollars clutched tightly in his frozen fist. He nods at Ms. Edwards whose gray hair blends in with the sky and when he doesn’t expect to see Steve up and about when he enters their apartment, but he is.

The stove radiates enough heat throughout the room that Bucky shucks his coat and collapses at the table with a frown.

“You should be in bed,” he accuses and Steve just shrugs and offers a spoon to Bucky to taste whatever he’s got cooking.

It’s bland, but it’s warm so Bucky nods before Steve turns around and goes back to stirring. They don’t address the fact he’s shaking and his muscles are weak from lying in bed so long. He’s paler than normal and Bucky can make out the pattern of red and blue veins that add color to his sallow skin.

The radio’s busted, but Steve hums under his breath and Bucky sways in his seat until Steve starts to cough and he’s up before either of them can blink.

“Alright punk, sit down. I’ll finish dinner,” Bucky commands and it’s a testament to how tired Steve is when he doesn’t put up a fight and he settles into the seat Bucky previously inhabited and he catches his breath slowly, carefully.

Bucky isn’t one to dawdle when he cooks, so he works diligently and tries to fight a smile when Steve starts humming again.

They eat mostly in silence after Bucky fills Steve in on his workday. Steve’s still too weak to go job hunting, so he passes the time with his nose in his sketchbook until Bucky drags him off to bed. Steve’s all easy smiles and chuckles as the sun sets and it causes something in Bucky to snap.

“Why the hell are you so cheerful Stevie? What about this,” he gestures around their dark background, “is so damn wonderful that you’re beaming like you haven’t spent the last couple weeks on death’s door?”

Steve sighs like Bucky doesn’t understand and he doesn’t. Steve’s the glass half-full kind of guy, but Bucky’s never had the luxury of being an optimist – might not live to see the next meal if he followed Steve’s line of thinking.

When Bucky doesn’t get an answer right away, he shakes his head and ruffles Steve’s hair in apology: Steve’s alive and that alone is cause for him to celebrate and here he is being a jerk because he’s a little cold and there’s a pain in his stomach. It’s no different than any other winter and Bucky knows better.

They’re huddled next to each other in Bucky’s bed when Steve finally responds.

“I had fresh-squeezed orange juice and Ms. Edwards brought me over some carrots for our soup tonight. I was able to hold a pencil without my hands shaking and I could even hear the kids having a snowball fight down in the street. My chest doesn’t hurt as much as it did and you came home early.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, feeling too guilty to string two words together. Steve winds his body closer to Bucky’s and his breath ghosts over Bucky’s neck. Hands warm on his back, Steve hides a shy grin in Bucky’s shirt and his words are muffled, but heard just fine.

“It’s not much, I know – but sometimes the little things are all we got Buck. Could be worse and I do think about those things: Me not being able to get a job or you working yourself to the bone until you get sick and suddenly we’re out on the street where death will catch up with me finally, but it’s so exhausting thinking like that. All these things we got – you and me – they add up. They make for a pretty good life.”

Bucky rolls over and pulls Steve into his arms and holds him until they eventually fall asleep. When he wakes up hours later with the sun in his eyes, Steve’s hands are tangled in his shirt and his lips are curled upwards into the ghost of a grin and Bucky can’t help but agree as he presses a kiss into golden hair and closes his eyes and breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> Now it's time to me to settle in and finish "Brooklyn, Brooklyn Take Me In"
> 
> Wish me luck?


End file.
